


I'm Crazy (But You Like It)

by badboy_fangirl



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Edging the curtain aside, she looks out and sees that it's not raining. Damon is in her driveway, standing next to her car, a soapy bucket on the ground at his feet.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We've all had enough "gloom, doom, and personal growth" for a while now; this is an attempt at some light-heartedness; bear with me, it takes a bit to get there. Switch-back-on future!fic sponsored by Shakira's song "Loca." In case any of you don't know what a power washer is, [Click ME](http://www.northerntool.com/shop/tools/product_200317591_200317591?cm_mmc=Google-pla-_-Pressure%20Washers-_-Pressure%20Washer%20Accessories-_-157659&ci_src=17588969&ci_sku=157659&gclid=CJHV-vS47LYCFcU5QgodpioAaw). In case any of you doubt me, this was supposed to be a simple fluff piece, but it got...complicated.

Elena wakes to rain. There is a steady thrum of it outside the window and it strikes her as a little odd. It's not unheard of for there to be light rain, but it doesn't usually come down the way it is right now in Virginia in the summer.

Throwing the covers back, she climbs from the bed. Standing in front of the mirror Caroline bought when she redecorated half of Bonnie's room to 'look like Elena,' she jams her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. The one good thing that came from her switch-flipped days? Her new haircut. She really likes it, even if it's sort of a crude reminder of a lot of terrible things.

 _Don't dwell on things you can't change._ Caroline's advisory mantra, written in her enormous scrawl, sits in the corner of the mirror, and Elena's eyes focus on it hard, just like every morning. It's actually really, really hard _not_ to do that, and she's still recovering. _One day at a time._ That's Bonnie's mantra.

Damon says none of it's her fault, so if she wants to blame him, she should. "I can compartmentalize guilt like a boss," he said, his eyes twinkling.

A smile tugged at her lips, but she hadn't let it actually manifest itself.

"All you can do is be better from here," Stefan said. His hand and rubbed against her shoulder and she had flinched away from him, not because she didn't want his comfort, but because she _did_. She remembers how she rigged him up, bear trap style, thanks to Rebekah's suggestion, and repaid him for the torture he put her through. She peeled his skin back and made him scream and rejoiced in it.

Part of her still does, truthfully. That's why she can't accept his words. Without her emotions (or at least the good ones), it had been all too easy to punish Stefan for so many things. All the lies, all the hurt, Wickery Bridge. In that shut-off place, there had been no forgiveness, and she realized how much she was holding on to, without even acknowledging it. 

When she finally let the soft feelings in again, the first thing that had penetrated was tenderness for Damon. Not love, not passion, not even lust, though like always those things were there, simmering, tapping at the door of her heart. But it had been this gentle, almost-pity for him that first caused a quiver within her. He tried so hard to be made of steel, but he was not; especially when it came to her.

(He'd been the first to break; it had surprised only him.)

The sound of the rain gets louder suddenly, so Elena turns and walks to the window. Edging the curtain aside, she looks out and sees that it's _not_ raining. Damon is in the driveway, standing next to her car, a soapy bucket on the ground at his feet. In his hand is a hose, and attached to it a power washer that he is currently aiming right at the bedroom window.

She would flip him off, but he probably can't see her, due to the amount of water obscuring the glass. Turning away, she heads for her closet and finds a hoodie to pull on over her camisole. Even in the morning, it's too warm outside for something like this, but she's just going to go shoo him away. She has no idea what he's doing here anyway.

She walks out into the hall, passing Bonnie on the way. "Um, not to be your mom or anything," her best friend says. "But if you're going outside to deal with him? Maybe some pants?"

Elena looks down at her pajama shorts, and then looks back up at her self-appointed roommate. ("Hey, the least I can do is offer you a place to stay, you know, after trying to kill you all those times," Bonnie had joked with a Damon Salvatore air that showed Elena just how much things had changed while she was 'away' more than anything else.)

"Yeah, you're probably right," she replies, carting around to go back in the bedroom. She finds some jean shorts and slips them on over her sleep clothes. She looks at herself in the mirror again. This is better; nothing inviting about this outfit. Nothing to signal Damon that anything's changed. She's not ready for his brand of 'let's move on from all the bad shit.' 

(She's not ready to be loved so wholly, so thoroughly, not when she still has a hard time meeting her own gaze in the mirror.)

By the time she goes outside, the hose is lying idly on the pavement and Damon is rubbing a soapy sponge across the hood of her SUV. The whole car is white with suds and he pretends not to notice her at first.

Elena doesn't even attempt niceties. "What are you doing?" she demands instead and only his eyes move towards her as she stands by the right side tire.

"Building a kite," he drawls, his lazy affectation causing a bloom of heat low in her belly.

It annoys her that he can be a smart ass, and that's somehow a turn-on for her now. (Maybe it always was? It's hard to tell what was ever real before with what assaults her every day. Reality is always waiting to smack her face, every moment, every second. And the vampire-heightened reality is never going to be easy.)

She puts her hands on her hips. " _Da_ mon," she says scoldingly.

"E _len_ a," he tosses right back at her, smirking.

"I told you, I don't want to be with you."

His eyes glint dangerously, but she sees him rein it back in, quite literally. "I am _washing_ your car, not asking for a lifetime commitment."

An inelegant snort erupts from her.

( _Maybe that's the problem._ It _is_ the problem, it will always _be_ the problem. _Damon_ will be her _problem_ for _eternity_ , one way or another. Because that's _exactly_ what he's doing. What he's always done. What he'll always _do_.)

The thought actually squeezes some happiness into her veins, but she's very good about not letting that _feeling_ ever get too strong. _I'll always choose you_ and _I'll never leave you again_ had segued into _I'll never give up on you_. And never is a long time when you're immortal.

He's washing her car, because she won't let him do anything else. She won't let him kiss her, or cuddle her, or make her laugh. She won't let him touch her, or taste her, or love her, because once she does, all the rest has to come with it. She has to open herself up entirely; she has to forgive Stefan. She has to forgive _herself_.

Caroline's piece of advice, _don't dwell on what you can't change_ , had come after she sent Damon away, effectively breaking up with him for real; her switch was on, so she meant what she said; nobody could argue, not even Damon, for once. Caroline had nodded her head as he drove away. _He loves you,_ she said, _but there's nothing you can do about it. Don't dwell on what you can't change._

So, Elena hasn't dwelt on Damon's love for her; instead she's obsessed over her love for him, and the fact that it _is_ real. The sire bond was obviously old news, considering how she kept breaking his heart left and right, and the most real thing she'd ever known was still there, still wanting to be known, and felt, and cultivated. It sat like a little sapling in her heart, just waiting.

(Just like Damon.)

He returns his attention to the task at hand, circling the sponge across the front end of the car. As he spends a few long, furious moments scrubbing dead bugs off the headlights, she just stands there, feeling stupid, knowing he's not going to leave. He's not going to come inside the house and demand anything of her, but he's also not going to stop washing her car.

He's Damon, her car is dirty, and she won't talk to him. These are three things that drive him crazy. And he can only control one of them.

So, she does the only thing she can think of. She leans down and picks up the hose; if she helps him, it won't be so much what he's doing _for_ her as it will be a group effort. Much easier to rationalize that away, if she's also participating. 

She plans to start rinsing the places he's already washed, but she's unprepared for just how powerful the washer is. Even with her vampire strength, when she squeezes the lever, it weaves in her grip and slips upward, the force of the water catching Damon full in the face. He yelps a garbled swear word, she cries, "Ohmigod! I'm so sorry!" and before she can get control of it, he's flashed around the end of the car, surrounding her within his arms. His hands cover hers on the trigger, and he forces her to relax her grip so the spray stops as quickly as it started.

"Thanks, Elena," he sputters and though she can't see him, she can feel how wet he is because he's dripping all over her.

"I'm so sorry," she says again, but something bubbles up in her throat, and she chokes. At first she can't even tell what's happening, but then laughter just starts rolling out of her mouth, and she can't stop it. "The...look...on...your...face..." she gasps, and the giggles get harder, and there's no way she can hold them back.

She's not sure how long it goes on, but what causes her mirth to fade is the fact that she's laughing alone. He pulls the hose from her hand, letting it drop back to the ground, but keeps an arm around her waist, holding her against him; she leans her head back on his shoulder. "C'mon," she says cajolingly. "It was a little funny, wasn't it?"

"It was hysterical," he says in agreement, his tone a low rumble in her ear and against her back, not as jovial as it is somber. "But I just wanted to listen to you."

Tears prick her eyes, and just that fast, Elena pushes out of his arms. Embarrassment floods her, and she tries looking everywhere but at him. "I didn't mean to do it," she says. "It was an accident."

He looks at her until she lifts her eyes to his, then he tilts his head, his blue, blue gaze examining her like a laser and says, "I know."

There is a moment when Elena doesn't know what they're talking about, but she's sure it's not about the power hose.

(Or maybe it is.)

"Look, Damon--"

"No," he says, waving a hand in her general direction. "I'm just washing your car, Elena. Deal with it. I'm tired of tiptoeing around this. You know I love you, you know I'm going to be here forever, and I'm not asking for anything except this. So...just fucking let me do it. Okay?"

He doesn't wait for her to answer, instead he leans down and swipes the hose back into his hand. Then he turns the spray on and starts blowing the bubbles off her car. Elena jumps back to avoid the excess spray, just watching him.

In fact, maybe it's the first time she's even let herself look at him since she flipped it all back on. 

And he's ridiculous. He's washing her car in his standard issue black button down and dark jeans, the cuffs shoved unceremoniously into his boots. Not that she can imagine Damon in shorts and a tank top, but it's July, and it's got to be ninety degrees. 

He could at least pretend to be human to do such a humanly thing.

Her heart squeezes, and all she can think, feel, _know_ is how much she loves him, in all his _bad brother glory_ as Caroline once called it. Because that's the part that's an act. This is the real Damon, the guy who washes her car to make himself feel better.

She moves toward him, and because he's determinedly not looking at her, he doesn't see what she's doing until she's slid herself between the hose and his chest. She wraps her hand around his on the trigger, the way he had hers just moments before. She grabs his other wrist and brings his arm around her again so she's engulfed in Damon, so that they are both controlling the tool that's whisking all the soap off the car into a stream flowing down the center of her driveway.

To his credit, he acts as if this is perfectly normal, resting his chin against the side of her head, next to her ear. They move around the car in tandem, rinsing every last bubble away.

When it's done, Elena takes her hand off the trigger, and Damon slowly releases it so the water stops. His arms squeeze around her in a slightly awkward hug, and just as she's about to turn in his arms to face him, he uses his vampire speed to undo the power washer; his thumb covers the head of the hose and he turns it inward so it shoots right in her face.

And that's when Elena lets go. She elbows him hard in the stomach, he grunts, and the hose goes flying as she spins around. She pounces and they both go down, landing in the grass on the other side of the driveway. Damon laughs in triumph, even though he's the one on his back beneath her. Water drips down her face, and her sweatshirt is soaked, but Damon's expression of glee makes her unaware of it. All she wants suddenly is to taste his smile, to capture it in a place inside her where it's okay to be happy again.

"I'm gonna kiss you," she announces, not really sure why she feels the need to warn him.

"Thank God," is his retort, and he does actually look relieved.

Elena leans down and brushes her mouth over his. Soft, gentle, not deep enough for tongues to touch. It's just their lips, it's just the curve of hers against the curve of his. "It's okay, Elena," he whispers, but it feels loud, like a shout. Like a primal bellow of victory, like something inside her finally springs free.

Damon just lies beneath her, still and unmoving, his hands resting on the grass on either side of his head. She pulls back just a little, to look into his eyes, to share things he won't make her say, that she would never have to vocalize because Damon doesn't care about all that. He only cares about her.

She slides her palm along his jaw and then drops her mouth back to his again. Soft still, but slow and open-mouthed this time, and his lips part, but he doesn't get aggressive. He just mirrors her actions, one of his hands cupping her cheek, and tilting her head so that if she wanted to move her tongue forward, it could glide in easily. 

Instead, she sucks his bottom lip between hers, and he returns the sentiment by giving her top lip the same treatment. Kissing Damon has never been a chore, but it suddenly becomes more erotic, more personal, just _more_ than she ever anticipated. She squeezes her knees against his hips since they're resting on either side of him and rolls herself over him just a little. He groans, something that sounds like her name eeking its way out even as he manages to keep kissing her.

She touches her tongue to his finally, and she feels the jolt of it through his body. He surges beneath her, and she can feel how necessary she is to him. He needs her as much as she needs him; it's just that he's not afraid of it.

(She is afraid of it, but not the way she used to be.)

She lifts her head, panting softly. His eyes search hers, and both his hands frame her face. "Inside?" he asks hopefully, but still without presumption.

She shakes her head. "Bonnie," she says, jerking her head just slightly to point towards the house. "Car?" she suggests.

Damon smirks. "It's broad daylight, babe. I'd rather take my chances with the witch."

"The windows are tinted," Elena reminds him.

"You'll have to be quiet," he says, completely smug, and Elena can't stop the grin that floods her face.

"So will you," she murmurs, leaning down to drag her tongue over his chin and down his throat. When she gets to his madly beating pulse, she lets her fangs come out to play. She hasn't bitten anything since she flipped back, and it feels just as freeing as the laughter that had erupted from her throat.

He whimpers, but she can tell he's doing his best to keep it low. She takes a few deep pulls, and then licks her tongue over the quickly healing puncture points. His hands tug slightly to pull her eyes back to his. "I want you somewhere with plenty of room," he says, and she can see he's starting to lose his submissiveness, just a bit.

(Maybe they'll both get back to where they once were.)

She pushes herself up off of him, standing, but reaching her hand down to bring him with her. "I know a place," she says. He lifts his eyebrows questioningly. "I'll drive."

He stares at her for a long moment, and then nods his head. "Whatever you want," he says, gesturing towards her shiny, clean car.

(Maybe that's why she loves him so much, because she already knows that.)


	2. Chapter 2

As they round the first corner leading away from Bonnie's house, Damon can't help but wonder if Elena has found some way to put vampire speed into her car, because he has to grab the overhead handle to keep from being thrown across the console into her lap. 

He'd probably be more apt to make a joke if he weren't shifting uncomfortably in his seat due to the unrelenting erection in his pants. She was pretty damn lucky he hadn't taken her up on the proferred car sex.

He remembers a time when desire and every other emotion he felt were entirely separate, but everything in his heart and brain and body screams for Elena in a way that makes 'blue balls' a minor inconvenience. If he can't have her, now that she's led him to believe he _can_ have her, he's pretty sure he will die. Just fucking keel over. There won't be any household chore distracting enough, or any crazy-ass supernatural creature worth defeating, or any other outlet for his need.

It's just her; it's always been just her. Even before he knew there was a her. His life consists of two parts, before Elena and after Elena, and both have been strangely torturous, in their own ways. The days without her had been bleak and empty, and the days with her have been everything from the most miserable to the most joyous times he could have ever envisioned, if however brief.

Right now he's clutching the _oh shit_ handle in an effort to believe that this will be a round of joy, for both of them. God knows they both need it, and Damon's been trying to give it to Elena for months now. He's not sure how washing her car finally broke down that barrier, but he's not wasting time sorting it out. He's just making strategic outlines in his head for if she changes her mind before they arrive wherever they're going.

"Where _are_ we going, anyway?" he asks, settling on something to say that's more conversational than _oh, god, I can't wait to fuck you._

Elena's lips curve up into a secret smile, and Damon suppresses a whimper of need. "I can't believe you haven't figured it out yet," she says, her eyes sliding over to his briefly before she focuses on the road again.

(She's like she was that morning, that one glorious morning that they had when they didn't know anything outside of each other, when they could have happily never learned about sire bonds, or Cures, or flipped Switches.)

Damon doesn't point out that his brain power has been greatly reduced by the series of kisses she gave him, each one slightly more sensual than its predecessor. Or that it's taking all of his self-control to not just slide his hand up the wide leg of her little jeans shorts to feel if she is as wet as he is hard. Or, you know, just go nuts and start pontificating about how much he loves her and how he's never going to let her go, ever, ever, _ever_.

He can't fucking think of a place to go beyond the edges of his own brain right this second, much less actually physically get them somewhere private. He would have been just fine with a _hey, Bonnie, we're going to be in here, doing exactly what you think we're doing, so if you want to leave, now would be the time._

He's never been particularly classy when it comes to Elena anyway, and this day might be his least classiest ever.

Elena flicks the blinker on and they take a much slower left into the town square. "Figured it out yet?" she asks, breaking at the solitary traffic signal. Damon looks from her face to where her eyes are focused, and when he sees Ric's loft, he does feel a little like he should have thought of it himself. It's only one of the Top Five places in which he's fantasized about Elena, even though he could hear Ric like a fucking Jiminy Cricket in his ear telling him he was an awful person because of it. 

(Yeah, like that's ever stopped him before. Pffft.)

(Whatever, when she was sweaty from weightlifting, and straddling the bench, who the hell would blame him for where his mind went? Or when she straddled _him_ on Ric's bed? Was he really supposed to act like that wasn't sexual? _Come on._ )

Elena pulls the car up to the curb, parallel parking with great ease (vampire reflexes, he reminds himself, even though his hands are shaking), and then she shuts the car off. Neither of them move at first, and the tension seems to thicken so much that Damon has a hard time turning his neck so he can look at her face again. She's watching him, though her gaze is somewhere close to his right ear. She whispers quite loudly, "I have missed you, so much," and all Damon can concentrate on is the fact that if he doesn't get out of his pants very soon, he may have permanent damage down there.

Then her hand touches his leg, her fingers squeezing his knee gently. "Damon?" she asks, and he grabs her head, dragging her mouth to his with a hunger that seems to rip at the seams of the very fabric of the universe.

 _His_ universe, anyway. That consists of the one and only Miss Elena Gilbert. Whose mouth opens wide, whose sweet sigh reverberates in his brain as he slides his tongue over hers, whose nails dig into his knee as he kisses her breathless. 

He's not quite sure he's going to be able to get them inside as their lips part. He tries to focus, but there is blood throbbing everywhere, and he has officially lost his mind; that's when Elena jumps out of the driver's side, vamp speeds around to his side and yanks him out of the car in a blur of heat and light that ends with him shoved up against the row of mailboxes just inside the first floor of Ric's apartment building. He doesn't care about the minor pain in his back because Elena has plastered herself against his front, and that feels amazing, so it more than makes up for any discomfort. Then she's kissing him again as if she will never stop, and really, them making it this far is a fucking miracle. If someone catches them at it, here in the stairwell, he'll just compel them to stand still and wait for them to finish. Then he'll compel them to forget. Yeah, that's exactly what he's gonna do.

He tears her shorts open, the button falling from between his rough fingers to bounce across the floor while her zipper practically disintegrates, but Elena's hand is there, stopping him from shoving his palm down the front to finally touch her. Her teeth tug at his bottom lip and she whispers, "Upstairs," and he realizes she's not onboard with his unspoken idea.

Somehow they make it up the two flights, she spins out of his arms, and as she's fumbling with the key to unlock the door, Damon pushes himself up against her ass. She arches back into him, moaning softly even as she's desperately trying to get the key in the hole. It's the fact that he can see her hands trembling the way his had been in the car that causes him to reach down to twist the knob hard, forcibly opening the door by breaking the lock. "Vampire strength, remember?" he whispers, shuffling them both forward over the threshold. He leans in and drags his lips and blunt teeth down the length of her neck. She makes another sound that nearly makes him come in his pants, and he doesn't wait another moment. He slides his hand down into the opened V of her jeans, his fingers skimming the silky material of her pajama shorts only briefly before he finds the much silkier part of her that waits for him. She cries out, tensing beneath his fingers, and he just plunges his index and middle digits into her, the slick heat more dream than reality, even though, to quote her, he's never felt _anything more real_.

He must whisper the names of deity without conscious thought, and Elena answers with an, "Oh, _God_ ," of her own as one of her hands lands in the hair at the nape of his neck. She holds on tight as he moves his fingers in and out of her, and as her moans of ecstasy reach a crescendo, he strums his thumb upward over her swollen clit and she comes apart, shuddering and keening something that sounds like, "YesohDamonohyesholy _shit_ Iloveyou," which would make him laugh if it weren't so essential to his very life that he hear those words from her right this minute.

He shoves both sets of shorts down her legs, turns her around to face him, and backs her up towards Ric's bed. Their hands collide at the fastening of his jeans, still very wet from their accidental water fight, and when Elena tries tugging them down, Damon mutters, "Fuck that, just get me _out_ ," and she doesn't need to be told twice. Her hand wraps gently around his cock, easing him from beneath the wet denim much slower than he would himself if it had been left up to him. When she tries to caress him, however, he grabs her wrist and tumbles them onto the bed, pinning both of her arms down as he uses his knee to wedge between her very accommodating thighs. 

When he's poised at her entrance, he hesitates for just a split second, remembering the (few) other times they'd made love. When they were slow and tender, when they took their time, when she kissed every inch of him first in response to his own thorough canvassing of her body, and he can't help but wonder if he's robbing them of something precious in this moment, when they are finally reuniting. But then she arches under him, whimpering his name in a way that makes thrusting home the only possible move, and he forgets to worry about perfection.

All there is, all there ever will be, for him, is Elena. This moment-- _any_ moment where there is only the two of them. They've had those types of exchanges since the first time they met on a dark road, and each one is its own perfect thing. He doesn't need to replicate anything, he just needs to love her with all he is.

She clenches around him seconds later, and he comes so hard he sees stars. But it's Elena lips pressing against the hinge of his jaw that makes tears spring to his eyes.

 

 

They are quiet in the aftermath, though she slowly undoes his shirt now that the urgency is past. She kisses each of his shoulders, dusting a chain of caresses over and across his chest as he shrugs out of it. He eases himself back, drawing her upward so that he can remove her hoodie and camisole, and he reverently cups her breasts in his hands, imagining the attention he'll lavish on them shortly. The silence between them has rarely been awkward, and now it's just peaceful and blissful, and Damon willingly turns over to lie on his back as her hands direct him. She cuddles against him, fully satiated, relaxed, her body draped over his left side like a curvy, warm, wonderful blanket. 

(He's sure he's never loved her more.)

Her fingers skim over his chest and shoulder, and then her head tips back, her lips brushing the skin of his cheek. He closes his eyes because he's still feeling a bit weepy, and it's fucking embarrassing. "I need to get these jeans off," he says, easing her off him. Standing next to Ric's bed, he shucks his boots and socks, and awkwardly pulls the wet jeans down.

As he turns back to the bed, Elena asks, "Don't you think Alaric must be appalled by this?" A smug little smile touches her lips, and all the fear he's seen in her since she turned her humanity back on is gone, at least for right now.

Some laughter eases out of him, but he gets distracted by her naked body. She stretches languidly, and then eases herself up on her elbow, watching him watching her. He can't really think about Ric right now, or what Ric would think about this, because that will totally ruin it.

He kneels on the bed, and Elena reaches for one of his hands. Lacing her fingers through his, she pulls herself to her knees also, so that they are facing each other in an upright position. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about Ric right now?" she suggests, reading his mind.

Damon just shakes his head negatively, and squeezes his fingers into hers. With his other hand he reaches up to tug her hair down from the knot on top of her head. It spills around her shoulders, not long enough to graze her breasts anymore, but that's still where it leads his gaze. Skimming his knuckles down the slope of her breast, he admires his affect on her as her nipple tightens, drawing up into a little mauve-colored point that makes his mouth water.

"I love you, Damon," she says, which causes his eyes to jump back to her face. She looks debauched, her hair a mess, her skin flushed, the curls between her legs still damp from both of them.

"I know," he answers, and it feels amazing, because it's true. If anything, he knows just how much she loves him because she wasn't able to hold him at arm's length anymore; for no other reason than because she wanted him--because she _missed_ him. She stretches her free hand out to trace the line of his hipbone. His cock is already hard again, but she doesn't touch him even though he has the feeling she wants to.

"Thank you for washing my car," she says, but it's not what she means. Damon can play this game, and it doesn't bother him. He rubs his thumb over her nipple before giving it a little pinch. "You're welcome," he answers.

Elena gasps, her back arching slightly, and he throbs painfully. He grits his teeth and utters, "Touch me," in a way that sounds exactly like begging, but he doesn't care because she obeys immediately, her gaze dropping to his cock as her hand wraps tightly around him.

She whispers his name, the note of longing in her voice sharp and aching. 

This is what it was like that night they spent together, just discovery and wonder, each movement something unlike any other experience he'd ever had; every little sound she made sent heat directly to his groin, and he knew he would never be able to get enough. But then he had to go back to living without it, all the gentle touches gone, all the dark brown eyes riddled with lust only in his dreams, and every word of love void of meaning.

But here, now, it has come back, better than it was before, more than it was before. Untainted. A weight lifts from his chest then because he knows this isn't a moment of weakness for her. This is it: this is _them_ , getting back together, or maybe just getting together in general, for real and forever. 

"Do you remember," he says, his voice breathy and hoarse due to the way she keeps sliding her fist up and down the length of him, "when you asked me if you should go back to being the scared little girl who couldn't admit what she wants?"

Her eyes are heavy-lidded when they lift to his, and she gives a barely imperceptible nod. "The answer is _no_ , Elena. I want you to take whatever you want, whenever you want. And if you want me, I _need_ you to take me. I need _you_. So much."

Her eyes shine brightly, the morning sun piercing a ray of light over Ric's bed, over her face as she looks at him, and Damon finds himself holding his breath. Love is easy, love is the thing she understands most of all; but want and need and desire, what she feels for him, with him, that's always been the thing that held them back.

First it was her, not trusting it to be safe; then it was him, not trusting it to be real. 

Her hand tightens around him, and she says clearly and distinctly, "I want you, Damon; I've always wanted you."


	3. Chapter 3

Elena keeps her gaze on Damon's as she strokes him, and though his arousal is evident, both in his body and his face, she knows that the intense vulnerability in his eyes is due to her words, not her hand around his cock. This is the thing (one of the many) that made Damon impossible to ignore, and she had tried ignoring him for so long. 

(Both before she gave in the first time, and now when she's giving in for the second.)

She wraps her free hand around his neck, pulls him close to capture his lips in a kiss, and uses her body to direct him on to his back on the bed. She flips her hair over shoulder as she leans over him and his eyes flare as she touches her mouth to his chest, flicking her tongue out to draw a wet trail down to his abs. When she nuzzles the soft hair beneath his navel, his hands grab at her head and he gasps out her name with a tone that conveys everything she saw in his eyes. She presses her cheek against his lower abdomen, whisper-shushing her lips into his skin to soothe the panic lacing those three syllables.

She knows he believes her, but with Damon, it will always be not-quite-believing, and after all their starts and stops, she doesn't blame him. She woke up this morning certain she would send him away when she saw him in the driveway, and now she's fisting his cock as she presses a kiss to the curve of his hipbone. The perfect storm brews here between them in this bed. With his need for her being matched by her want of him, it only makes sense that as she takes him into her mouth, he's unsure; he must feel like he's free-falling, so all she can do is prove that she will catch him.

(That she will stop making him let her go.)

She swallows him down and he curses, his fingers tightening against her skull. The panting whines of his pleasure increase until she can tell how close he is by the muscles trembling in his thighs, so she pulls back. As she concentrates her suction right at the head of his cock, he says her name again, only this time it jumps from his throat, not hesitant at all. It's not that he's sure, but she finally is, so she brings him with her, scraping a fingernail over the femoral artery that throbs right there next to her ear. He comes, loudly, and she's so close that all she does is turn her face into his thigh to take some of his blood, and she orgasms right then, his gratification singing through his veins right into her body.

She rests her head on his stomach, and eventually the buzzing in her ears recedes so that she can hear him mumbling something that sounds like, _ohgod, ohgod, ohgod_ under his breath; it makes her laugh softly. He's almost two centuries old, but she managed to surprise him, and herself if she's honest. Instinct makes up for inexperience, every time. Or maybe Damon's just easy; either way, he tends to make her feel like she can do no wrong.

His fingers filter through her hair, spreading it upward over his chest as she continues to lay on him. She's content, she doesn't need to move, but she does have a question for him. "When did you decide it was okay to be happy?" she asks.

His belly trembles under her in laughter. "Who said I ever did?" he replies.

She pinches him on the inside of his thigh, not far from where her teeth pierced him a moment ago and he makes an obligatory "Ow" noise though she doubts it hurt him. "You know what I mean. After you turned it back on; how long before you thought it was okay to stop...you know, dwelling on your sins?"

"Elena," he says, an edge in his voice. "Have you ever known me to beat myself up over my sins?"

She lifts her head then, meeting his eyes across the expanse of his torso. "Actually, yes. I remember that whole _I don't deserve you, but my brother does_ speech. Knowing what I know about Stefan, how is that even remotely true? I mean, assuming anyone earns love, which they don't, by the way. I've certainly done nothing to deserve your devotion, and yet, there you were washing my car, driving me crazy."

He tucks her hair behind her ear, studying her face as he does so. "Truth?" he says, but his tone implies _can you handle it?_ not that he'd give her a lie instead.

Elena nods firmly, her chin digging into his belly. "Truth."

His fingers linger over the shell of her ear. "Never happy, not really. I didn't know how to be happy. I didn't know I could be. Until you. Because, deserved or not, Elena, my life has always been made up of people who didn't love me enough, or people I made sure wouldn't. With you, even though we had Stefan looming over us, each moment was this thing, independent of that, something that happened despite everything else. So when I thought it wasn't real? When I imagined those happiest moments of my life, having felt what you feel for me, and thinking they weren't based on something honest? The only thing that was left was to make sure you were okay, to get you what you needed, because I was never going to get what I needed anyway."

Elena blinks as tears sting her eyes. Now his _I need you_ speech has even more meaning that his _I don't deserve you_ speech. Her heart is full of all the things she should say to him, but she can't seem to choke them out around the lump in her throat.

"I love you, Elena. And if being with me makes you happy, then you should do it. Don't wait, don't _waste_ your time. What's done is done. We might not deserve happiness, but might as well have it anyway."

His palm slides down, cupping her cheek softly. She dips her face into it, and then covers his hand with her own, holding him against her. "It won't be that easy," she finally says, though as each second ticks by, it's feeling better and better.

"Well, of course not. We could never do anything _easy_. That's just crazy talk." He waggles his eyebrows and flares his eyes dramatically, and helpless laughter bubbles in her throat.

It will never be boring, that's for sure.

She crawls up his body just about the same moment he starts tugging her towards his face, and their mouths meet sweetly. She feels his smile under her lips, and a flood of warmth and happiness hits her in the chest, something uncontainable and unstoppable. 

There used to be so much guilt involved in all of her moments with Damon: guilt about Stefan, guilt about what she _should_ do or feel. Ever since she embraced what Damon makes her feel, _how_ he makes her feel, she'd been lighter and happier, and that had seemed so wrong when she came back, when her humanity pressed down on her and reminded her of the awful things she had said and done. 

And just like before, she couldn't shake him; she didn't _want_ to. In reality, that was the hardest part for Elena: it was easier to go back, to be the girl who didn't say what she really wanted, what she _needed_ , but Damon was too smart to let that go on too long.

He let her wallow just long enough, and then in his typical-Damon fashion, he gave it all a virtual _fuck that_ and came storming back in. Or arrived with a power washer at her door, anyway.

Who couldn't help but love him? It would take someone far stronger than she, and Elena was done with that. She didn't want to go back either; the scared little girl was dead, and who lived on in her place was the woman currently lying atop a once more very aroused Damon Salvatore, enthusiastically French kissing him.

She draws back to look into his eyes, to touch his face, to revel in the moment, in the happiness that slides beneath her skin. 

He gives her a little smile, but doesn't say anything. He just waits for her to kiss him again.

(She does, eventually.)


End file.
